Tymber Dalton - Safe Harbor

“You’re amazing, pet. I’m so proud of you. Dunedin?”

“No, if you come by tonight, you have to park where you did before and keep going, around to the other hospital entrance. It’s farther up. You could park in the north garage but you have to pay.”

“Holiday?”

“That would take you too far from the hospital. You don’t want to walk that far in this neighborhood. The Harborside parking lot where they have all the palm trees, that’s the one I mean.”

She heard a muffled male voice in the background and the rattle of what sounded like paper. “Palm Harbor? A motel in Palm Harbor?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Good girl, pet. Sit tight. Has he hurt you?”

If she had half an opportunity, Bryan would be the one in serious fucking pain. “No, Sir. I’m getting along okay. Things are very tight right now.”

“I love you, pet. So much, you have no idea. I promise I am coming for you. I will bring you home safe. Just sit tight. Fucking computer, I’m trying to get the air card to log on so I can track you.”

Bryan made a slashing motion across his throat.

“Same here, Sir. I’m sorry. I have to go. Thank you for calling.

Good-bye.”

Bryan didn’t drop his gaze as he pulled the phone away and hung up. “Who the fuck was that? Sir B?” He turned it off again. “Your battery’s low. We’ll call your little friend later.”

“I’ve been taking some…spirituality classes at the Greek Orthodox church in Tarpon. Bill. He’s the teacher. We all call him Sir. He’s British. He was knighted.” She mentally winced, wishing she’d come up with a better story. Lying wasn’t easy anymore, not even to Bryan, and not even when faced with death. It felt wrong to lie. Her skills had atrophied with disuse.

She never had a reason to lie anymore. She never had to fear telling the truth.

Clarisse fought back the old fears returning to cripple her, how oppressive life had been with Bryan. Like a thick, nasty slime it wanted to suck away all her hopes.

His eyes crawled over her face, then dropped down her body.

“You’ve changed, Clarisse. I don’t know what, but I think I like it.

Too bad you didn’t find religion before when you were with me. It looks good on you.” He turned and dropped the phone on the bed.

“I’m taking a shower. I’ll leave the bathroom door open.” He ripped a piece of duct tape from the roll and slapped it over her mouth. “Just in case.” Then he drained his beer, grabbed another, and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

Sully hung up and studied the map. They’d had Mac’s phone on speaker mode and taped the call. Sully used Mac’s knowing his own phone appeared as “Master” on her caller ID. He didn’t want Jason’s phone associated with this.

He hoped she’d come up with a good explanation for “Sir B.”

Sully worked on his laptop to trace her phone’s GPS, then swore when he realized the fucker had shut it off again. He tried to call back, but it went straight to her voice mail.

“She’s in a motel in Palm Harbor, on or near Alternate 19,” Sully said, studying the map.

“How can you be that sure? I know the Palm Harbor part, but the location?”

“She specifically pronounced it ‘alternit’ and used military time.

Nineteen-hundred. She never uses military time. Alternate 19, in Palm Harbor, but not on Alt. 19, close by.” He flipped between windows on the computer, trying to locate any motels that would fit the bill. A minute later, he pointed at the screen. “There.” He couldn’t believe Bryan hadn’t ditched her phone. Even more astounding, that he let her answer it and talk. The trifecta, that he let her keep talking as long as he did.

Thank God for the tracking software. Next time, he’d be ready.

Jason looked over his shoulder. “There’s at least six different motels in that area. We don’t know which side of Alt. 19 she’s on.

“We’ll find her.” He powered down the laptop and started packing. “Come on.”

Jason helped him gather some things. Sully followed Jason to his house, where Jason grabbed a bulletproof vest and another gun. “You gonna help me pay my mortgage if I lose my bennies over this?”

Jayce snarked.

“Buddy, I’ll pay off your fucking mortgage.”

* * *

After his shower, Bryan sat on the bed and looked at Clarisse.

“You’ve really changed. What the fuck happened to you?” He’d viciously ripped off the duct tape and grinned when she glared at him.

“You happened to me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m about to shit on your parade. I read in the paper about that guy on the boat. Glad I didn’t kill the cash cow. We’re going to call your writer cop buddy, and he’s going to make a little withdrawal at his bank. By the time I leave, I’ll have enough to get to South America and retire. I’ve got a contact there who needs a computer expert. Easy money, no fucking hassles.” He stretched out on the bed. “So what’s the deal? You fuck that guy Nicoletto for rent?

That’s all you’re worth anyway.”

She clenched the arms of the chair as much as the duct tape would allow. “He’s my husband, asshole.” Probably the wrong thing to say, but she couldn’t stand listening to his mouth.

Bryan’s eyebrows arched. “Son of a bitch! You’re married to the fucker? How’d you sucker him into that?” He laughed, long and hard.

“Poor bastard. Well, maybe I can make him a widower.” He glared at her. “So you’re married to him, but you’re obviously close to that other asshole. I saw you kissing him. What’s the deal with that?” A slow, evil grin twisted his face. “You screwing around on your new hubby already? Or are you fucking both of them? Is that what the problem was, I didn’t share you with my buddies? Kinky bitch.

You’re a little fucking slut whore, aren’t you?”

Clarisse struggled against her bonds. “I’m gonna kill you, you son of a bitch!”

He laughed and raised the gun, the sight of which stilled her movements. “No, I don’t think so.”

* * *

Three hours later, Sully and Jason were set up in a motel in Palm Harbor. Sully used a fake name and paid cash for the room. They scouted all the nearby motels close to where the last tracking signal had pinged. When Bryan’s call came in an hour before dark, Sully had the GPS software loaded and logged on, ready to trace the phone’s location.

“Is this Nicoletto?” the man asked.

“Yes. Where’s Clarisse?”

“She’s okay. She’s alive, for now. So, she’s your wife, huh?”

Sully winced. He’d hoped that wouldn’t come out, knowing it would make Bryan want to get more than money out of her. “Yes.”

“I think that ups my price. I don’t mind keeping her safe for a few more days. Two hundred thou, cash. I know it’ll take a couple of days for you to get it together. I also know you’ll want to talk to the Feds.

If you do, she’s dead. Lots of wetlands around here to dump a body, lots of Dumpsters.”

Sully tried for a scared tone of voice so he didn’t sound maliciously pissed. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

“You’re not so tough now, are you?” Sully heard a loud slap.

“What the fuck did you do to her? I slap her and it’s like she’s a fucking deaf mute.”

In the room, Clarisse glared up at Bryan. That did it. She would kill the fucker if she had the chance. If he put the gun down, she would get it, somehow. He had to sleep sometime. He’d cut her free once to let her use the bathroom but kept the gun trained on her the entire time. When he rebound her, he only taped her legs to the chair.

He handcuffed her hands in front of her, in her lap. He’d put more duct tape on her mouth and ripped it off so she could tell him the number to dial on her phone to call Sully.

“No! Please, don’t hurt her!”

“Then get me the fucking money, asshole.” He hung up, shut off the phone, and threw it onto the bed. “You’re going to make me a rich man, baby.”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

“Well then, how about I call you a cocksucking whore? You prefer that?”

Clarisse watched him, engaged in a staring match. He finally blinked first and shook his head. “I’ll fuck that attitude outta you before I get my money. Just not right now. I might have to move us someplace else tonight after it gets dark. I’ve been here too long.”

Her heart raced. If he moved her, Sully wouldn’t be able to find them as fast. At least she had a fighting chance here. She could only hope Sully understood her clues as well as he seemed to.

Sully and Jason ran out the door and down two blocks to stand across the street from another motel. On a quiet side street, the old nineteen-sixties vintage motor court had twenty rooms. Four cars sat in the lot, two with Florida plates, one from Michigan, and one from Virginia.

The men sat on a bus stop bench down the block and looked around like they were waiting for the next one.

“See anything?” Sully asked.

“Nope,” Jason said. “We sure this is him?”

“Pretty sure. We need to know which car.” They watched and waited. Fortunately, no bus came by. As dusk descended, they spotted lights on in four of the rooms, pinpointing where the occupants were in relation to their cars.

“How you want to handle this?” Jason asked. They’d moved to another bench, not visible from the motel, but they could still watch.

“I’m working on it.” They stood to walk toward their motel when a car bearing a lit pizza parlor sign on top pulled in to the motel. The driver went directly to the last room and knocked. They watched as a large man carefully opened the door and stepped out, not allowing the delivery guy to see inside the room.